Just David | Page 6

We've got to go--TO-MORROW!"
"Father!"
"Yes, yes, come!" He stumbled blindly, yet in some way he reached the
cabin door.
Behind him David still sat, inert, staring. The next minute the boy had
sprung to his feet and was hurrying after his father.

CHAPTER II
THE TRAIL
A curious strength seemed to have come to the man. With almost
steady hands he took down the photographs and the Sistine Madonna,
packing them neatly away in a box to be left. From beneath his bunk he
dragged a large, dusty traveling-bag, and in this he stowed a little food,
a few garments, and a great deal of the music scattered about the room.
David, in the doorway, stared in dazed wonder. Gradually into his eyes
crept a look never seen there before.
"Father, where are we going?" he asked at last in a shaking voice, as he
came slowly into the room.

"Back, son; we're going back."
"To the village, where we get our eggs and bacon?"
"No, no, lad, not there. The other way. We go down into the valley this
time."
"The valley--MY valley, with the Silver Lake?"
"Yes, my son; and beyond--far beyond." The man spoke dreamily. He
was looking at a photograph in his hand. It had slipped in among the
loose sheets of music, and had not been put away with the others. It
was the likeness of a beautiful woman.
For a moment David eyed him uncertainly; then he spoke.
"Daddy, who is that? Who are all these people in the pictures? You've
never told me about any of them except the little round one that you
wear in your pocket. Who are they?"
Instead of answering, the man turned faraway eyes on the boy and
smiled wistfully.
"Ah, David, lad, how they'll love you! How they will love you! But you
mustn't let them spoil you, son. You must remember--remember all I've
told you."
Once again David asked his question, but this time the man only turned
back to the photograph, muttering something the boy could not
understand.
After that David did not question any more. He was too amazed, too
distressed. He had never before seen his father like this. With nervous
haste the man was setting the little room to rights, crowding things into
the bag, and packing other things away in an old trunk. His cheeks were
very red, and his eyes very bright. He talked, too, almost constantly,
though David could understand scarcely a word of what was said. Later,
the man caught up his violin and played; and never before had David

heard his father play like that. The boy's eyes filled, and his heart ached
with a pain that choked and numbed--though why, David could not
have told. Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank exhausted
into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it all, crept to his
bunk and fell asleep.
In the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world. His
father, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready for
breakfast. The little room, dismantled of its decorations, was bare and
cold. The bag, closed and strapped, rested on the floor by the door,
together with the two violins in their cases, ready to carry.
"We must hurry, son. It's a long tramp before we take the cars."
"The cars--the real cars? Do we go in those?" David was fully awake
now.
"Yes."
"And is that all we're to carry?"
"Yes. Hurry, son."
"But we come back--sometime?"
There was no answer.
"Father, we're coming back--sometime?" David's voice was insistent
now.
The man stooped and tightened a strap that was already quite tight
enough. Then he laughed lightly.
"Why, of course you're coming back sometime, David. Only think of
all these things we're leaving!"
When the last dish was put away, the last garment adjusted, and the last
look given to the little room, the travelers picked up the bag and the
violins, and went out into the sweet freshness of the morning. As he

fastened the door the man sighed profoundly; but David did not notice
this. His face was turned toward the east--always David looked toward
the sun.
"Daddy, let's not go, after all! Let's stay here," he cried ardently,
drinking in the beauty of the morning.
"We must go, David. Come, son." And the man led the way across the
green slope to the west.
It was a scarcely perceptible trail, but the man found it, and followed it
with evident confidence. There was only the pause now and then to
steady his none-too-sure step, or to ease the burden of the bag. Very
soon the forest lay all about them, with the birds singing over their
heads, and with numberless tiny feet scurrying through the